


The Kings and Baby Durin

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [33]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drama, Guilt, M/M, Spoiling children, Thranduil can't believe he said that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one’s a bit funny and a bit angsty.  Thranduil is obsessed with Baby Durin and Thorin is at the end of his tether.  Will the elven king push his lover too far this time?  And will the bad memories that haunt our favourite dwarf finally bring him to his knees?  And will there be a bit of sex as usual?  ‘Spect so, LOL!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and Baby Durin

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and Baby Durin

 

Pt I

 

_“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.”_

 

Thorin was lying in bed with his sleeping lover but the dwarven king was wide awake.  He was worried about Thranduil.  This was nothing new: he was always worried about Thranduil - and about their relationship.  But, this time, he was _really_ worried about Thranduil.  His behaviour had been a bit odd ever since that phantom pregnancy.  It had put a lot of stress upon them and it hadn’t got much better once Brangwyn’s baby had been born and the elven king had acknowledged that his own pregnancy had all been in his mind.

 

“Yes, Thorin,” he would reassure the dwarf.  “I _know_ it wasn’t real.”  But often he would behave as if he had really lost a child.

 

“Careful,” he would say in the middle of a deep, satisfying fuck.  “I’m still a bit sore, you know.  I’m surprised I didn’t need stitches.”

 

Or: “Don’t you think we should practise the withdrawal method?  I don’t want to get pregnant again.”

 

Or: “You men!  All you care about is your cock!  It’s wham, bam!  And no regard for the consequences.”

 

Thorin had tried to sit his lover down and talk him through the whole business sensibly and then Thranduil would cry and say, “I know, I know, my love.  I understand that it all happened because I wanted a child so much.  Now, can we stop talking about it because I’m finding this all a bit upsetting?”  And, of course, the dwarf felt obliged to stop talking and would give him a cuddle instead, even though he felt that things weren’t completely sorted in the elf’s head.

 

And, then, worst of all, Thranduil’s distress had caused him to lose control of the spell of glamourie that had disguised the awful dragon burns to his face from everyone for years and years.  Even Thorin hadn’t known about it.  The outcome had been a rather nasty misunderstanding which had rocked their marriage.

 

And, even now, the dwarven king wasn’t certain that the elf was back on an even keel.  Their sex life was erratic – well, comparatively erratic if he thought about the frequent bouts they had indulged in before all this had happened – and Thranduil’s one big consolation for ‘losing’ his own child was to over-indulge the new heir, Baby Durin, the son of Young Thorin and Brangwyn, the beautiful dwarven woman. 

 

On top of all this, it was very upsetting the number of times he would say to Thorin, “You should have married her and not me when you had the chance and then little Durin would be yours.”  Or: “Do you hate me because I can’t give you a child?”  Or: “What’s the point in having a screw if nothing can come of it?”

 

This last one was especially frustrating for Thorin and, in the end, he would yell:  “Because it’s fun!”  And Thranduil would tut and roll his eyes and say: “You men!  That’s all you ever think about.”  And then Thorin would storm out of the room and the elf would come running after him and cry and then Thorin would take him in his arms and say, “There, there!”  And, of course, it would all finish in an unsatisfying fuck when Thranduil made Thorin feel like a complete animal.

 

And now he was sitting up in bed with the sleeping elven king in his arms wondering where it all went wrong.

 

Perhaps it had started when they had had their fight over Haldir: Thorin had found a load of old love letters and had discovered the unsavoury reason as to why Thranduil usually insisted on being on top.  Who took what position had been a bone of contention since the two kings had first met, but after they had talked through the relationship that the elf had had with the marchwarden, then position didn’t seem to matter any more and Thorin had experienced endless fun weeks of being the dominant partner to make up for Thranduil having forced him into being the submissive for so long.

 

Then Thranduil had thought he was pregnant and this had had a strange feminising effect upon him and Thorin continued in the dominant role for another 9 months.  And after Baby Durin had been born seven months earlier, the elven king had become very maternal.  “I feel like a second mother to him,” the elf would sigh.  And on the odd occasion when they had sex, Thorin was expected to be on top once more.

 

Whenever Thorin had a meeting, Thranduil would go off to play with the baby.  “I’m too exhausted,” he would say, when Thorin returned and tried to lure him into bed.  “A woman’s work is never done, you know.”

 

“But you’re _not_ a woman,” Thorin would snap in frustration.

 

“Well, of course I’m not,” the elf would respond, rolling his eyes.  “But, you try being with a baby all day and then see how _you_ feel.”

 

Thorin felt that he couldn’t win. 

 

And he was beginning to feel that he couldn’t cope.

 

It was nearly dawn and Thranduil began to stir in his arms: it was at this point that Thorin made a decision.  If he wanted things to change, then he had to force the elven king to take on the dominant role once more.  He gently cupped his lover’s balls and began to stroke him into an erection.

 

“Mmm, that’s nice,” murmured Thranduil, as he surfaced.  And he seized the dwarf’s hand and tried to force two of his fingers up his backside.  Thorin resisted.  Instead, he rolled with him onto his back and clasped the elf to him.  “Fuck me,” he said in a commanding whisper, grabbing him firmly by the buttocks and forcing him into his groin.  And, before the sleepy elf quite knew what he was doing, he had slid inside Thorin and was thrusting enthusiastically away, much to the dwarf’s relief and satisfaction.

 

This was the first time in more than a year that Thranduil had assumed the dominant position.  It felt really good and Thorin wondered why he had ever objected.  Thranduil was obviously wondering why he had declined being on top for so long too as his thrusts grew faster and his breathing became heavier.  It was turning into quite a wild ride and the two of them finally exploded in a wave of cum and ecstasy.

 

“Mahal!” gasped Thorin.  “That was a good one!”

 

“Wouldn’t argue with that!” panted Thranduil.  And they fell apart in a state of utter exhaustion.  “I’d almost forgotten what it felt like,” he grinned, “to give a good rogering – as your coarse companions might say – to a tough, muscular, arrogant so-and-so like you.  We’ll have to do it again later – it’s about time you knew your place.”  And he laughed at the thought of it.

 

Thorin had the feeling that they were going in the right direction.

 

It’s called misplaced optimism.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

_“Parents who spoil their children out of 'love' should realize that they are performing acts of child abuse.”_

 

They had a great day and a great night together: the old Thranduil seemed to have returned – autocratic, domineering, aloof – and Thorin loved it.  He finally nodded happily off to sleep with a very sore behind.  And he didn’t even mind, as a not-morning-person, when the elf nudged him awake as the sun came up and rolled on top of him once more.

 

“Do you know how desirable you are?” whispered Thranduil in a sultry moan.  And he dipped his fingers into the dish of perfumed oil that they always kept beside the bed and thrust them deep inside the dwarf.

 

“No, tell me,” gasped Thorin, writhing as the fingers touched the spot and his member stiffened immediately into a rod of iron.

 

“This much,” said the elf as the fingers were withdrawn only to be replaced by his own swollen cock.

 

Thorin tightened his legs around his lover’s waist and, shutting his eyes, gave himself up to the insistent rhythm.  Then, just as he teetered on the edge of a climax, Thranduil suddenly stopped.  “Keep going, keep going,” the dwarf gasped.  But, the elven king wrenched himself out of Thorin’s backside without warning and began to climb from the bed.  The dwarf gave a frustrated moan and his hand reached down to grasp his throbbing member.

 

But, an agitated Thranduil grabbed his wrist and exclaimed: “No time for that!  I almost forgot.”  And, dragging his partner from the bed, he continued: “I promised Brangwyn that we would look after Baby Durin today.  We’ll be late if you don’t hurry!”   And he pushed a grumbling and uncomfortably stiff Thorin towards the bathing pool.

 

“That could have been the best one ever!” complained Thorin as he was dunked unceremoniously into the water.  “And now we’ll never know!”

 

“You’re so _selfish_ ,” said the elf, “when there’s a baby to consider.”

 

.o00o.

 

When they had had their bath, the two kings set off to relieve Brangwyn of her maternal duties whilst she had a day out riding with her husband, Young Thorin, heir to the throne.  Baby Durin was only seven months, but, like most dwarves, he had initially grown up very quickly although he would eventually slow down to a snail’s pace as he entered his teens.  It took a long time for these lads to reach maturity compared with the children of men.

 

But, Durin was already a toddler, a sturdy child with a head of golden curls, whose favourite word was ‘Mine!’  The two kings sat down as the parents disappeared on their jaunt and Durin immediately ran to Thranduil and climbed up on his knee.  Thranduil gave Thorin a smug look over the golden head. 

 

“He knows you’re a soft touch,” snorted the dwarf in retaliation.

 

“Ah, what it is to be loved,” sighed the elf with a triumphant glint in his eye.

 

“Cupboard love, more like it,” muttered Thorin, as the child demanded ‘Mine!’, reaching for the pretty box of sweet confections that the elf was carrying and which had been intended to last the whole day.

 

“Of course they’re yours,” said the elven king, handing the entire box over with a silly smile on his face.  Little Durin clutched his prize and immediately climbed off the elf’s lap to go and lean against Unca Thorin’s strong thighs and stuff his face with sugary goodies.

 

“And if he’s sick,” said Thorin to his beloved, “you can mop it up.”

 

The child looked up at the dwarf with an angelic smile on his face.  “Well, it’s no use looking at me like that,” said Thorin sourly.  “I’ve brought nothing for you.”  But, in spite of that, the boy climbed up on the dwarven king’s knee and gave him a sticky kiss on his bearded lips.

 

This annoyed Thranduil no end.  It was strange that, no matter how affectionate he was with the child and no matter how many times Thorin snarled at him, it was the dwarf to whom Durin always gravitated.  He had been moaning about this to Dwalin over a drink only the other day and the big dwarf had roared with laughter.  “You don’t stand a chance,” he guffawed.  “He was the same with Fili and Kili and they loved him to bits, no matter how much he shouted at them.  And,” he added, becoming more serious, “it broke his heart when they were killed at the Battle of the Five Armies.”

 

“Well, I would never have guessed it,” muttered Thranduil bad-temperedly.  “He never talks about them to me.  I’ve always had the impression that they were a nuisance to him.”

 

“Then you don’t know Thorin half as well as you would like to think,” Dwalin had snapped.  “He keeps the pain close to his heart, an emotion too bitter to share.  You can see it in his eyes.”  Then the dwarf had stomped away, looking rather upset, leaving behind an indignant elven king, affronted that Dwalin didn’t think he understood the one he loved best in the world.

 

And now he looked at Durin and decided that he needed to work even harder on winning the child’s affection.  The boy was kneeling on Thorin’s lap, contentedly playing with the rings and cuffs in the dwarf’s ears, whilst Thorin endured his attention patiently.  Thranduil swept down upon him and whisked him away.   “Come and play with Unca Thrandy,” he cooed.   Of course, the child started crying at this rude interruption and it took all of the elf’s efforts to persuade him that playing with his necklet offered more entertainment than Thorin’s ear rings.

 

Thorin sat there rolling his eyes.  “Was that quite necessary?” he asked.

 

The little lad grasped the priceless mithril necklet and demanded, ‘Mine!’  And Thranduil immediately undid it and handed it over.  “There you are, precious,” he said.

 

“You spoil him too much!” snapped the dwarf.  “It’s not good for him!”

 

“Lots of affection is good for him,” responded the elf with a toss of his platinum hair.  And he covered his face with kisses.  “If it was left up to you, he’d be starved of a little love.”

 

“There are ways and ways of showing love,” said Thorin curtly.

 

“And you don’t approve of my way?” was the snotty response.

 

“How did you guess?”

 

And so the arguments continued into the afternoon.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

_“Thus it is that no cruelty whatsoever passes by without impact. Thus it is that we always pay dearly for chasing after what is cheap.”_

 

After a day with Baby Durin, Thranduil’s behaviour was all silly and soppy again.  “Isn’t he an absolute darling?” he exclaimed fondly, sitting up in bed and gazing into the distance.  “So beautiful, so delightful, so….”

 

“……so spoiled by his Unca Thrandy,”   Thorin finished his sentence for him irritably.

 

Thranduil flicked back his hair.  “I don’t so much feel like an uncle but like a mother to him,” he simpered.  “Perhaps that’s why I’m so much closer to him than you are.   I feel so much more responsible for his welfare than you do.”

 

“Stop going on about the child and lie down,” said Thorin gruffly, trying to bite his tongue.  If this conversation continued much longer, he could see the elf bursting into tears once more as he started having confused thoughts about his phantom pregnancy.  And he pulled back the sheet and sucked Thranduil’s cock into his mouth in an attempt to distract him from the thought of children.

 

The elven king wriggled appreciatively and when Thorin finally emerged from between his thighs, he pulled him into his arms and, manoeuvering his backside up against Thorin’s member, practically forced the dwarf to penetrate him.  Thorin was too far gone to resist and, with a resigned sigh, he took on the dominant role once more.

 

.o00o.

 

Next morning, in the bathing pool, the subject of little Durin came up again.  Thorin was just drying himself off whilst Thranduil lingered in the water when the dwarf decided that it was time to confront his lover on certain issues because, what with one thing and another, he was beginning to feel at breaking point.  He must at least get this situation sorted out.

 

“You know,” he said, “you really ought to be firmer with him.”

 

“You mean, like you are?” replied Thranduil dismissively.  “Sometimes you’re practically cruel to the poor little darling.”

 

Thorin felt exasperated.  “But you have got to remember who he is.  One day he will be king and we have all got to teach him the meaning of self-control and restraint.  And he won’t learn that if he starts off in life being indulged and getting everything he asks for.”  And he yanked on his clothes.

 

“Excuse me,” said Thranduil indignantly, “but I do happen to be a father and have already brought up a son of my own.”

 

The dwarf looked at him, thinking that he and Legolas weren’t exactly supreme examples of a father/son bonding, but finally said mildly: “Well, I was the only father that Fili and Kili ever had.  They never knew their proper father.  And I feel that they turned out rather successfully.”

 

Thranduil guessed at the comparison that was being made and lost his temper.  “But at least my son didn’t grow up to be dead,” he sniped. 

 

And then he clapped his hand to his mouth. 

 

But, it was too late. 

 

It was said.

 

The anguish in the dwarven king’s face was too cruel to bear.  “Thorin,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.”  But the dwarf was already stumbling towards the door and, in moments, he was gone.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil threw on his clothes and rushed out in search of him.  By Eru!  What a dreadful thing to say!  Thorin would never forgive him.  Down in the dining hall, he found a lot of the dwarves having breakfast but none of them had seen Thorin.  Nor were any too perturbed that there appeared to have been a row again and, after his exit, they carried on with their eggs and bacon.

 

Then he had a quick look in the library.  Nope!  And then he checked out Brangwyn’s old apartment where Thorin had been known to hide away before.  And finally and rather reluctantly, he sought out Brangwyn herself.

 

He was reluctant because he was pretty confident that Thorin wouldn’t be there and he felt too ashamed to tell her why the dwarf had stalked off.

 

“What’s the matter?” she asked worriedly as she let him in.  Young Thorin was nursing a sleeping Durin and he looked up with concern too.  Thranduil gazed fixedly at the floor and he told them.

 

“No!” exclaimed Brangwyn.

 

“What an unforgiveable thing to say!” snapped the prince.  “I don’t know what’s been wrong with you for months now. You’ve been so obsessed with our baby and that stupid phantom pregnancy that you haven’t given a thought to Thorin.  And now this!  Do you have any idea what pressure you have been putting him under?”

 

The tears ran down the elf’s face and dripped on the floor.

 

“Hush,” said Brangwyn, touching her husband’s arm.  Then she stepped forward and held the elven king gently by the hand.  “Let’s get this thing sorted,” she murmured.  “Have you been down to the stables yet?  Because that’s where we should check first.”

 

Unsurprisingly, in the stables, they found that Thorin’s horse was missing.  So, where had the dwarven king gone?  They wondered if he had gone into Dale to get drunk.  But why would he drink amongst strangers?  They thought about the Mirkwood stronghold, but could think of no reason why he would go there.

 

“Come on…..Think,” said Brangwyn.

 

Thranduil thought but could only come up with one suggestion.  “I suppose he might be at the elven retreat in Mirkwood where we had a holiday together.  It’s a quiet, healing place and he may have gone there to work his way through his distress.”

 

“That’s it!” exclaimed the dwarf woman.  And then she efficiently set about organising the packing of food and clothing so that she could send the elf on his way.

 

As he mounted his horse, she touched his knee gently.  “It will take at least a day to get there,” she said.  “Just use that time to work out the right words.  Make sure you say the right words to him.”

 

Thranduil nodded and then, wheeling the head of his horse around, he galloped from the courtyard, over the bridge and out onto the wide plain of Erebor.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

_“You can never regret anything you do in life. You kind of have to learn the lesson from whatever the experience is and take it with you on your journey forward.”_  
  


Thranduil was forced to camp out in the forest when it got dark but arrived at the retreat the next morning.  It was a beautiful spot: lovely elven pavilions were scattered down a hillside overlooking a river in a valley full of wild flowers and graceful trees.  For thousands of years, the elves of Mirkwood had gone there to restore their damaged psyches and to find peace and harmony, but the area had become derelict after the Necromancer had brought his evil to the woods.  Now, it had been restored and was beautiful once more.

 

The elven king scanned the valley and saw a spiral of smoke from a small fire rising from a spot on the river bank.  That must be Thorin.  And he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree outside the pavilion that he and Thorin had lived in during their holiday there.  He could see the dwarf’s horse in the adjacent stable.

 

The elf walked slowly down the hill until, at last, he could see the dwarven king sitting by a camp fire over which was strung a number of fish.  He sat there unmoving, staring out over the water.  Nor did he move when Thranduil sat down quietly beside him.  For many long moments, neither of them spoke, then Thorin said in a strained voice: “Should I have stopped them from coming on the quest?  They wanted to come and it was the honour of the house of Durin that was at stake.  It seemed obvious to me – and even to Dis – that their place was by my side.”  He sighed.  “But, once I had decided on this course of action, then surely I should have protected them?  And yet they died before my very eyes.  Yes, I am responsible for their deaths.  They knew nothing of battle, nothing of restraint.  They threw themselves recklessly into the fray and they died because I didn’t do enough – enough to protect them, to control them, to pass on my own wisdom.”

 

His eyes clouded over in despair.  “All that effort, all that nurturing, all that love – cast away in a few moments.  You are right: they grew up to be dead.”  And then he buried his head in his hands.

 

What was the right thing to say?  Thorin was on the edge and the elven king didn’t want to push him over.  Brangwyn had told him that he must say the right thing.  Thranduil didn’t know what that was, and so he said nothing.  Instead, he took a supply of flatbread from his pack and, removing the fish from over the fire, wrapped up the tasty catch.  “You must be hungry,” he said, touching Thorin’s arm gently.  “Eat this.”  The dwarf took the food at his bidding and ate it almost in a daze.

 

“Now we shall lie down and rest,” said the elf, taking him by the shoulder  and heading for the pavilion.  Thorin followed him obediently, like a child.  In the bedroom, he stood silently and patiently whilst the elven king removed his clothes and tucked him between the cool sheets.  Then Thranduil took off his own clothes and got in beside him.

 

The elf clasped him in his arms and stroked his hair.  “Sleep now,” he said firmly.  And Thorin, who had this strangely liberating feeling that he no longer had to be responsible for any decision any more, did as he was told and went to sleep.

 

His sleep, for the first time in years, was dreamless and he awoke some hours later feeling peaceful and calm.  Still wrapped in Thranduil’s arms, he lay there thinking how, since Smaug first came to Erebor, he had been weighed down by a huge burden of responsibility: for his father and his grandfather, for his people, for his sister, for the quest and his companions, for Bilbo even, and for his nephews – for their lives and for their deaths.  And for this past year, he had felt responsible for Thranduil too – for his phantom pregnancy, for his subsequent odd behaviour and for the survival of their relationship.  And now Thranduil was telling him what to do and it felt so good not to have to make decisions any more.

 

“And now we shall make love,” said the elven king when he saw that the dwarf was awake.  And he kissed Thorin tenderly and, sweeping him beneath him, gently pushed his erect member deep inside him.  It was all so slow and easy and Thorin relaxed into his lover’s arms, letting the tension in his groin build at a steady pace.  He did not try to control it but let it take control of him until the spasms swept over him in a succession of undulating waves.

 

“That was nice,” he said, snuggling into Thranduil’s smooth chest and tucking his head up under his chin.  The elf laughed softly and adjusted him comfortably against his body.  “One more hour and then we get up,” he said.

 

An hour later, they both awoke and Thorin looked steadily into his lover’s eyes.

 

“I can cope if you will help me,” he said.  “But, you must take control for some time until I have found my way out of this maze of guilt and self-hatred that I have somehow wandered into.”

 

“Anything you say,” murmured Thranduil gently.

 

“No,” smiled Thorin.  “Anything _you_ say.”

 

“So,” replied the elven king sternly, “first we shall get up and have a bath; then we shall eat; then we shall go to the river and fish; and then we shall have a nice, long fuck under the trees.  We shall stay here for a few days and then we shall return home to Erebor and be happy.”

 

“Now that sounds like a truly excellent plan,” laughed the dwarf.

 

.o00o.

 

**Hopefully, our pair can move on after all that.  Next week, in _The Kings and the Voyeur_ , Thorin and Thranduil are persuaded by Brangwyn that they should take Little Durin on a visit to the Iron Hills to meet his grandfather, Dain.  He’s a bit of an old curmudgeon who doesn’t like his own son, doesn’t like elves and doesn’t approve of the relationship between the two kings.  What could go wrong?**

**I’d like to thank aninnina for all the new ideas she has given me!  A visit to Dain was one of them.**

**Other episodes touched upon in this one:**

**_The Kings and Haldir, the Marchwarden_ **

****

**_The Kings and the Love Letters_ **

****

**_The Kings and the Pregnancy_ **

****

**_The Kings and the Terrible Secret_ **

****

**Hope you had a good read!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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